incorii

[incorii]

Invisibility among the masses

So young, yet too old

Soft spoken, but too bold

Crying out to the walls of people

Trying to complete their basic needs

Flesh that tears itself apart

Fighting rough, once faint of heart

The world turns it's back

The world ignores

So young, yet too old

How much soul have they sold?

Were promised safety, were promised care

Left in the street, no one hears

A ghost among many

Abandoned and uncanny

Their eyes lack life

Lied to one too many times

Left to handle being crushed alive

Alone

-Matt, 6th Feb. 2024

#spilled ink #poemsbyme #prose poem #poetry #writeblr #tw neglect #tw negative thoughts #depressing poem #hidden disability

[incorii]

"Humans can survive the deadliest things.

Some learn how through education and guidance, others are forced to from first hand experience."

-Matt, 18. Oct, 23

#spilled ink #writeblr

[incorii]

Invisible

The unseen sickness looms.

Tendrils choke the soul, hammers chip the layers of life.

A being in vast depth, now a blank sheet of crumbled paper.

The unseen dread looms.

Careful eyes watch the change, unresponsive hands' futile grip fades.

They still cling to what was taken from them.

The unseen anger looms.

Locked behind frightened smiles and masks weathered by neglect.

Eyes graze the surface with little interest, forgetting every detail.

The unseen sadness looms.

No longer are you yourself.

No longer will you ever be.

The world moves on without you.

Unseeing eyes stare ahead when you beg.

Heads turn away when you cry.

Fingers point with rage when you grow too tired of their neglect.

The unseen sickness looms.

For unseeing eyes, it stays invisible.

-Matt, 17. Oct, 23

#spilled ink #writeblr #poemsbyme #prose poem #poetry #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #chronic illness #ask to tag

[incorii]

The Bridge and The River

We stand on empty, charred grounds.

The bridges that once were, are long burnt, and will never be rebuilt again.

We both made sure of that.

The dissonant whispers from either side of the river will fade with time, yet they still haunt us both. Spirits, feeling ill and abandonded, trying to claw onto the hearts that remember them.

I find it odd, as I watch you on the other side.

I am an adult now, yet I do not tower you, still. Never did I want you to experience the cruelty put upon me.

Neither do I want you to endure what I barely survived.

You tell me that you love me.

I am not sure if I can trust that. The statement, and the sentence.

I am not sure I can trust your motives, through the discomfort you conjure within me. On how, and when you would tell me.

And what it actually ment, rather than what the false words conveyed.

My every memory burns to tell me that trust is futile. That in order to survive, I need to pack my bag and run, to the wilderness on my side of the decaying bridge. To sleep under the stars, with food I trust to eat, and with a fire and blankets I trust to keep me warm.

A pillow I trust to support my head.

My every waking second of doubt tells me to try one more time. That they do not mean it. That it is their strange way of showing they care.

That reminding me how useless I am, is their way of caring. Of, attempting to, despite the attempts being misguided by their own egos and ignorance.

Yet my every experience knows, and urges to show, that this age-old song and dance will only continue to spiral for the worse.

That the bridges I once held dearly, are better left burnt.

That the ones who were truly meant to nurture, created a breeding ground for trauma, fright and injury instead.

You expressed your worry to me.

You sat down on my bed, on my legs that I had under the covers. And I understood that you were worried.

I was not stupid, merely because I chose to keep my mouth shut. Merely because keeping quiet brought me less pain than telling you, for only to have you scream at me when I tried.

I watched you. Studied you. Knew every sign of your every emotion.

I knew when to shut up, and when to draw away.

I knew which moments you would scream.

I knew which moments where you blamed the evils of the world on me, a child before their caretaker, and I knew which moments where I had to shut you out to ensure I survived another night.

I watched every wrinkle in your expression, the angle of your lips, and the amount of clarity in your eyes, every time you stood before me.

I listened to every tone and every change in your voice, the times it grew watery, the times it grew rough, and the times it grew aggressive and loud.

I watched your body, how your shoulders raised, how your fingers twitched, and how you longed to reach out and touch, after you had shredded my skin with claws.

I knew, and I listened.

Because you very obviously did not.

You assumed, and what you assumed angered you.

Standing on my side of the river, I still remember everything so vividly.

The river is louder now, drowning out the noise, yet the spirits still haunt.

They still whisper their memories, refusing to be forgotten.

'I surrender' The child would cry to silence, timidly raising a pale flag of white.

'It is my fault, I can handle the blame' The child would continue, holding up a wildflower, an offering of peace, to allow the cradled youth yet another day to live.

'Please do not be upset anymore. It hurts'

It was never spoken, for they would never listen.

Yet they listened to actions.

And they listened to what they had taught their child to say.

They listened to their child having to bend the truth to please them, and subdue their anger born from worry.

They listened to a child, dressed in white among the crusaders in silver, put in a world they did not understand, only to endure the horrors of it for someone else's gain.

'You do not understand what is happening. You yell, and you cry, and aim your weapons at the heads of me and my siblings. I do not understand either, and I worry too' Was left unsaid. 'Having to carry my own burden and yours, hurts. It is heavy on my small shoulders'

'The burden you have placed upon me from before I was old enough to walk, has taught me how to handle my own burdens'

From the river, echoes a word.

A haunting word, carved into the lifeless eyes of the child that burned to ash with the bridge, and the tired, worn phoenix who still has to shoulder the burden.

The word echoes sourly.

"Old Soul"

A child should not feel old. Should not have to feel old. Should not have to be wise beyond their years, and understand far more than they ever get credit for.

A child should not have to grow up to care for their own caretakers. A child should be cared for, and about. The burden of caretaking should be given to someone who does not have to light their own skin on fire, for only to offer wrinkles that should be caused by age.

A child should not have to endure horrors, only to be praised for being 'mature' and 'managable'.

A child should not be forced to become an adult mind in a younger body.

A child should not be forced to silence.

As, a silent child usually has something to say.

To those who listen.

-Matt, 16. Oct, 23

#writeblr #spilled ink #prose poem #tw family #tw neglect #tw negative thoughts #ask to tag #ask to tw #tw abuse

[incorii]

Heya.

Finally published some fiction writing, simply to have done it. Used to do so more before, though stopped as it grew tedious.

Wanna write for fun, so I will.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49406488

Newfound Sound in Deafening Silence

Original Work

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Ginn (OC), Anju (OC)

Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury, Isolation, Angst, First Meetings, Fantasy, Fights, Blood and Injury, Soldiers, Flashbacks, Bonding, I'm Bad At Tagging, Tags May Change, Original Character(s), Paranormal, Original Fiction

Summary:

It was silent, and it had been for all he had known. Every sound he heard, was of his own making. Even the blizzard that raged outside was muted within the isolating walls of the fort.

He was alone, the kid was all alone, left with the suffocating quiet that followed.<br />And as he stood by the place he so often visited, asking himself why he did this again and again in silence,

He heard a sound.

((Posting this on mobile, so tags will be off. Apparently tags on mobile won't be seperated by commas alone, so many of the tagged things are mentioned like, once. Hence the Gen rating))

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original character #original work #my fic #Ao3

[incorii]

Memory fruits

Memories are like fruits

Dangling from your head

Once the fruit rots

That part of you is dead

Young fruits can be picked

By ignorance and neglect

Sliced til half remains attached

Remembered, but defect

"Who are you? I cannot tell, 

Why are you here, and wish me well?" 

"It's me, do you not remember? 

I saw you again, last December?" 

Blurred faces comes to mind

Sealed away until the time

The trauma to your mind ease

Care for good health as you please

But until the fruit scars over

That memory you lost, 

Will never sober

- Matt, 2. May 23

#spilled ink #poemsbyme #poetry #prose poem #tw neglect #tw mental health #tw negativity #depressing poem #tw abuse #tw trauma #poetic #spilled prose

[incorii]

What misfortune laid before them?

Two slaves of metal, bound to serve

Without their consent

Without a say in the matter of their own treatment?

They never seem to enjoy being used

They never seemed to like the crushing weight of expectations hauling them around, crushing them down

It's not a life worth living

They had each other

Breifly, before they were buried

Abandoned

Were their masters not pleased?

What reason would they have for such cruelty?

Leaving them alone, out in the biting cold

They had each other

Now they did, abandoned together

Dumped on the side of the road

Alone, yet facing each other.

They had each other

Worn, tired hands, holding onto each other's live

"Stay with me, I've got you"

Now, they were buried in the cold, mortal snow

Their life drained so fast

Their grip on each other's dulled

And so, they faded

They were gone soon,

Buried, alone, on the side of the road

But atleast

They had each other

- Kick-Scooters by the road

-By Matt, 28 March, 23

#spilled ink #poetry #tw neglect #prose poem #poemsbyme

[incorii]

Thank you

Thank you, for telling me that I was exaggerating my pain. 

Four months after you said it would pass in a week, I was hospitalized for the same symptoms you dismissed at the office. My doc then found out within a minute of time that this was a continuous case, and offered to help in the subtler ways at first. 

Thank you, for not listening to me. 

If you were listening, as specialist staff, you would have known of my burning pains. You would have known what I had learned the past months made it better and worse, and you would have known it was the nerves. 

Telling me that I'd likely just scratched my knee, when the whole right side of my body had been ablaze for months?

I hoped to be heard, to avoid hurting. The hurt never stopped, as it was not taken seriously soon enough. I suppose that is the unfortunate fate many have to suffer today. 

Thank you, for telling me that I was only doing it for attention. 

I was ill and could hardly walk, so I brought the only mobility aid available at that moment to help me move at all. Your dismissal of my needs made me realize that I was better off anywhere else than in a domesticated cycle of neglect from those you're supposed to trust the most. You blamed me for seeking attention, when I wanted none at all. I only wanted to get better and healthier, on my own.

Thank you, for telling me that you knew everything about me. 

It made me realize that you did not know who I was, and kept referring to everything I did as a child, rather than as an adult. 

You never listened to a word I said, but I listened to yours. When you told me I would never make it in the world, and that I should give up trying to be anything. The world would never be fair, so you told me, from a child age, that I had to suffer. 

Thank you, for setting your time over my health. 

When I was bedridden with fever, as well as the blazing pains in my right leg, arm, and torso, I was still asked to clean the house while you were at work, laundry, dinner, food-shopping, being told to babysit at the last minute because you wanted to have a whole day date with your partner..

I understand that you wanted to have fun, and that you were tired, but blaming me for my physique is not the way to go. You were aware of your genetic deformities, you were aware of his and our family history of genetic disease, but telling me that since you're tired I have to take over, while I can hardly move from being in so much pain I would say is a bit overboard. 

It made me realize that some believe the world revolves around them, and that those will not listen to others unless they deem them equal. I was supposed to be your child, but I suppose I always was your burden, right? 

Thank you, for quoting me again and again. 

If you had listened, you would have known specifically that I wished to take medical advice from a doctor. Yet you took it out of context, and refused to talk to me without a passive aggressive bitterness 'because you couldn't say a word to me since you were not a professional' 

I had already tried the advice you offered, and it had not worked and only worsened it. Because I dismiss something of what works and does not work for me, does not mean that I am telling you that everything you say is wrong. I merely stated that the specific methods you mentioned had not worked for me, and that I wanted to hear with someone a little more educated on the manner than you. 

It made me realize just how many of your acid words I had forgotten. 

Thank you, for all the pain you caused me when you said that you would be by my side through everything. 

Taking away my ability to consent and force me into an institution because you believe me to be worthless definitely sounds like someone who cares. I have good grades, a good social life, and a bright future, so why do you think that I will never make it on my own? Why do you think that I never had friends? Why do you think I am faking? If anything, I am forcing a smile while you yell at me for not being good enough for you.

And thank you, for making me realize that I have support from my friends and the ones I love. 

Had it not been for them, I would not have been here today. 

My friends and loved ones, my chosen family, have been there for me, always. 

And I trust them to accept my sincere appreciation, for all of what they have done for me. 

Thank you.

#writeblr #spilled ink #vent tag #tw neglect #tw abuse #tw mental health #tw medical #tw family #tw negativity

[incorii]

#spilled ink #poetry #tw trauma #tw neglect #Polls #poemsbyme

[incorii]

this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.

it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?

it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.

as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.

on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.

and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.

and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.

as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.

#spilled ink #writeblr #Thank you for describing it so well #I've always had a strange feeling of this too #They were there #They said they loved me #But moments later I was their inconvenience again #Even after going no contact and explaining my reasons to them so they won't message me with how awful they're doing #They still tell me like always #And I understand that #But their neglance had me hospitalized and I have been ill with bacterial infections for months now #To the point where I haven't been able to walk without mobility aid for nearly 6 months #They told me that I was useless and I might as well give up on trying to be anything #After years upon years of good grades and good outlooks for the future #They still chose to regard me as a broken child the moment I got too ill to do anything they wanted me to #It wasn't our intention #And it wasn't meant like that #It was always that excuse #It was always my fault #So it should never have been an excuse I trusted #And I doubt it will ever be again

[incorii]

In some ways, intentions are essential.

Yet in some, communicating by clear understanding, is better.

Good deeds can linger, boiling on the surface while the hearts sink deeper.

"I meant well"

"I used their words"

"They would do the same"

Only to realize that the way you showed, did not show your intention.

You used a slur, to compliment someone.

You told them they were worthless, so they would not feel bad about the friends they left behind.

You said, you know, and proceed to tell exactly how you don't know.

The world can be a marvelous place, full of bright minds and potential. Full of hope, of bliss, happiness, laugher, and goals achieved through smart work.

Yet you will never know if you take the time to listen, and learn.

.

Rambles

.

-Matt, 29. Nov, 22

#spilled ink #spilled prose #thoughts #tw negative thoughts #tw negativity #tw mental health #ask me to tag

[incorii]

Color of people

Why did you think I would change my colors

To a store-bought soul from a millionaire

The money, they said, would care for their lives

But when poor die, they have no penny to spare

.

"Protect all the children" you say as you tower

And hit your child straight 'cross the face

Supporting a madman who just wants you dead

As he preaches in someone else' s name

.

I should have known

That compassion was gone

And staying in silence would fuel you more

You stepped on my heart with a sledge, and ripped it out clean, for you, to hold

.

I should have known

When to run and to hide

Yet I boiled like a frog in a kettle, so slow

.

My hands are scarred from touching your hatred

My heart has got a wall of gold

My soul would chirp at the common sensation

Yet it does not chirp more, at all

.

Why its important for all to agree

With something no one can know

To think they would push aside love

To spread their preaching of war

.

We are not too different, all people in world

And we have our own way of thinking

Perhaps stick your head up of the sand

And see that the glass is brimming

.

You really think hatred will solve all your problems,

While fear takes your worries away

Crumbling forth your short lived existence

To wait for your savior today

.

What if the world was a way to acknowledge

That freedom of thought should live on

We may all be different, but oh so alike

As the story is made for us all

.

Not just you

.

-Matt, September 25, 22

#poemsbyme #poetry #prose poem #aesthetic #spilled ink #crisis #writing #depressing poem #spilled prose #prose

[incorii]

Shifter

A form of truth

A truth retold

Many times before

Meanings water out

Dissolve into fragments

Not quite nonsense

Not quite familiar

More new

Less old

Less me

More everything

A new impression

A new form

A new look

On life and experiences

- Matt, 30. April 22

#aesthetic #poemsbyme #poetry #prose poem #Shapeshifter #Change #still life

[incorii]

Sleep

Cmon, let me sleep

Let me sleep

Please

Please

I can't stand another night waiting

For sleep

For my body to tire

For my mind to calm

Let me sleep

While laying in bed

Alone

Listening to the ringing silence

The sun rising

While the hours awake

Pass by

Please

Please

Let me sleep

Cmon, let me sleep

- Matt, 26. April 22

#poemsbyme #depressing poem #prose poem #poetry #prose #poems and quotes #spilled ink

[incorii]

-Deep red/Black 'Aesthetic' Moodboard

(All images are from Unsplash)

#moodboard #Aesthetic #vampire aesthetic #Red #Black #saturated

[incorii]

-Vampiric (aesthetic) moodboard

(All images from Unsplash)

#aesthetic #moodboard #vampire aesthetic #Vampire #Red #Black #Gold #Bronze

[incorii]

Deceived by light, Concealed by darkness

Senses aligned, and wounds are many

Fresh from a fight they couldn't win

Came from the light, so warm yet wary

Struck by might to shatter within

Cold drips the blood of undead made

Cursed little creature of dark and night

Cries seeping through their every aching

Lured from past with promised sight

Wounds left untended may never heal

Poisoned soil may never grow

See with your eyes the path ahead

As hearts may trust more than you may know

-Matt, 19. April, 22

#poetry #poeta #poemsbyme #depressing poem #prose poem #prose #Poets #writing #spilled ink